


Don't Ask Where, Don't Ask When

by Mugatu



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Arranged Marriages, F/M, Grief, Hades/Persephone remix, Jealousy, M/M, Mourning, a world of gods...and men!, asshole gods with good PR, gratuitous fake latinized words, the Fears are amoral rather than evil, yet another wip
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-20 06:21:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30000609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mugatu/pseuds/Mugatu
Summary: Archivarius, the god of Thought and Memory, spends half of the year in the land of the living at the side of his husband Jupiter Magnus, King of the gods and lord of Knowledge. He spends the second half of the year in the Underworld with his other husband, the nameless and Forsaken god of Death. Mortals--particularly the recently bereaved--pray for his return and entreat him to persuade the heartless Forsaken to allow their souls to enter Paradise.Timothy Stoker, who recently lost his brother Danny, decides prayers aren't enough.
Relationships: Danny Stoker & Tim Stoker, Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Don't Ask Where, Don't Ask When

Sasha warned Tim that Vigilum Station would be crowded this close to Descent Night. He’s still unprepared for the chaos that greets him when his train arrives in the Holy City. Hoards of tourists and pilgrims—many wearing the same white mourning armband Tim is—form a vast sea of humanity that catches him and doesn’t let go. Tim doesn’t try to fight it, just clutches his suitcase to his chest and lets the current carry him along like a bit of flotsam. Eventually he surfaces at street level, and a wave of the crowd splits to flow out the main entrance. Tim washes up on a street that’s only marginally less crowded—rivers and tributaries of humanity rather than the sea itself.

The walk paths leading up to the station are lined with carts, the vendors shouting out their wares and prices at him as he tries to find a calm spot to consult his map. Mostly holiday items—purple chrysanthemums in one, moth ornaments in another, lanterns and sweet cakes in still another. He’s nearly a block away from the station before finding a quiet doorway of a cafe to get his bearings.

Sasha told him it would be easier for him to come to hers than to try and find each other in the madness at the station. Tim has never been to Panoptopolis but he has a good sense of direction, and by sheer luck he’s gone mostly in the right direction since leaving Vigilum. Tim tucks his map into his shirt pocket and sets out for Sasha’s neighborhood. By the time he reaches her street there isn’t even an echo of the crowds battering the station. He could’ve stepped into another world—red brick insulae rising around him like walls of a canyon. Quiet but still festive, with lampposts wrapped in garlands of chrysanthemums, wooden moth ornaments, and paper lanterns strung up between the buildings. And, although they’re not technically decorations, plenty of street cats lounging in the doorways and windowsills of most buildings, including Sasha’s. Tim almost steps on the pretty little calico stretched out across the doorway. Tim freezes when he sees she’s wearing a collar of woven purple and grey ribbon that indicates she belongs to a Temple Archivarius.

Tim unconsciously touches his white mourning armband even as he tells himself it doesn’t mean anything. There are more than one thousand temples grand to humble in Panoptopolis. One hundred must be dedicated to Archivarius alone. Plus twice as many to Jupiter Magnus, each one with at least a library dedicated to his husband, if not a full chapel. Sasha even told him there’s a Temple Archivarius not far from her flat, half the cats he spotted probably have purple and grey collars.

Still, it doesn’t hurt to take chances. Tim kneels cautiously beside the cat and holds out his hand. She sniffs his fingers before butting his palm. Permission granted, he rubs her ears and is rewarded with a rumbling purr.

“I don’t have any food on me,” Tim apologizes, “I just got into the city. My friend has some, I’m sure. Just…” His voice breaks, and he has to wipe his eyes. “If you see your master before he leaves us, tell him not to forget Danny Stoker. Please.” The cat simply purrs, twisting around and offering her belly. “Oh, I’m not falling for _that_ one,” Tim says. To his relief his voice sounds steadier. He’s about to get to his feet when he hears the door unlatch. The little calico leaps to her feet, tail puffed out, and darts down the street.

“Sorry to interrupt,” a familiar voice says from above him, “But I’m looking for this friend of mine. Worried he got lost, or worse.”

Tim looks up(and up, and up, she’s a tall woman), flashing a cheeky Stoker grin. “Oh? What’s he look like? Is he as devastatingly handsome as I am? If so, maybe he was seduced by a god in disguise.”

“Well, he’s not as handsome as he thinks he is,” Sasha replies, a teasing smile on her lips, “ _And_ he can be a bit cheeky, so if he met a god in disguise it’s more likely he or she turned him into a pig, or an ass, or maybe even a spider.”

“First, I am _exactly_ as handsome as I think I am. Second, I’ll have you know most people would call me ‘charming’ rather than ‘cheeky’,” Tim says. He rises to his feet and doesn’t have time to brush his slacks off before he’s being tackled. He has to swallow a lump in his throat; he’d forgotten how good Sasha was at hugs.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Sasha says, still hugging him.

“I bet. I…” Whatever lame joke he was about to make dies in his throat as grief surges over him. It’s been five months, it’s supposed to have gotten _better,_ he’s not supposed to be reduced to tears by a simple hug from a friend he hasn’t seen in too long.

Sasha, bless her, politely doesn’t give him any platitudes, just keeps hugging him until he’s able to compose himself.

***********************************************

It’s late enough and Tim is exhausted enough that when Sasha suggests an early dinner in he readily agrees. She cooks for them—a simple pasta with wild boar sausage and kale that tastes better than half the stuff he gets at London restaurants. Sasha modestly chalks it up to the ingredients produced in the Holy City.

Sasha lives on the top floor of her insulae—very annoying when it came to lugging up his suitcase, but very convenient when it came to accessing the rooftop garden. After they’re done with dinner they take full advantage of said access. It’s an absolutely stunning view—Tim can see the tower of the temple Panoptimus in one direction, the faint blue blur of the ocean in the other, and the modern and ancient buildings of the rest of the city in between. It only grows even more spectacular as sun sets, turning the ocean fiery gold and the pale white marble buildings into rainbows of color as the holiday lanterns are lit.

The two of them split a bottle of wine as they catch up with their lives over the past few years. The already know the _big_ details—Sasha is an excellent correspondent, writing him every few weeks. Tim actually remembers to respond most of the time, and she endures his lapses with good humor.

She knows all about Danny’s death; he went to the rare expense of an international call almost immediately after it happened. So far she’s the only person he’s _wanted_ to talk to about it. Months later and she made a call of her own, inviting him to Panoptopolis for Descent Night. After all, he’s been promising to visit since she accepted her position at the Magnus Archives.

********************************************

When it’s time to sleep Tim has a brief argument with Sasha about the bed. She tries to insist he’s the guest and should have it, he counters that he’s on holiday and doesn’t have to work. They finally agree they’re adult enough to share it regardless of any lingering romantic or sexual tension. Tim concludes it’s an excellent decision almost as soon as his head touches the pillow. It’s nice, sharing a bed with someone again. Since Danny’s death his libido has swung between “non-existent” and “a new partner (or partners) every night”. Neither extreme is conducive to simply sleeping next to someone with no expectations on either side.

The next morning Tim wakes with Sasha snoring and drooling on his chest. He tries not to enjoy the weight of her head and the warmth of her body too much during the minutes it takes for her to wake. While she gets ready for work he fixes her a simple breakfast and sets the kettle on the stove.

“Timothy Stoker,” she says when she sees him pouring boiling water into her coffee press, “I didn’t even have to sleep with you first this time.”

Tim laughs, “You did sleep with me. Technically. And I’d do this even if you’d let me take the couch.”

“Such a gentleman,” she says. Then her face grows serious, “Do you want to come with me to work? The Temple’s crowded, but if you come in with me you won’t have to queue.”

“Yes to coming with you,” Tim says quickly, “As to Temple…maybe later?”

Sasha is quiet for a moment, “Yeah, it can be…a lot. There’s plenty to see if you want to play tourist. And the rest of the Magnaedis won’t be as crowded. I mean, still crowded, but you’ll be able to breathe at least.”

“Like the sound of that,” Tim says.

Sasha is quiet again, “You must let me show off the Temple at some point. But if you’d rather…there’s a smaller one a few blocks from here. It’s where I do most of my prayers.”

Tim snorts out a laugh, “You work at the Temple Archivarius _Magnaedis_ , and do your prayers at your neighborhood shrine?”

“Well, like you said. I _work_ there. Hard to get in the proper pious spirit when I’m on the job. The local one is quieter. I can hear myself think. Actually feel like he’s listening there.”

Tim doesn’t answer. He hasn’t said any prayers for Danny yet outside of the standard funeral ones. It still feels like a cosmic mistake; just last year he and Danny were praying for their parents. Bryan and Imelda Stoker have been dead for over a decade; they _should_ already be resting comfortably in Paradise. Danny and Tim still prayed every year on Descent Night, more for their own sakes than the gods’.

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. Tim was older, he should’ve gone first. At the very least it should’ve happened decades from now, long after Danny finally settled down with a nice girl and started a family of his own. If Tim _had_ to say the prayer for the dead it should be decades from now, with nieces and nephews surrounding him as he regaled them with tales of their father.

“Alright, Tim?” Sasha says, pulling him from his thoughts.

He gives her a tired smile, “Sorry. It comes and goes, is all.”

She reaches over to squeeze his hand, “Don’t fret it. One of the reasons I wanted you to come. Saying goodbye is what this week’s all about. You’re not alone.”

***********************************************

Sasha says she doesn’t bother with public transport even when it’s not crowded with holiday tourists. She also doesn’t own an auto and wouldn’t drive in this city if she did. Instead they take her Wasp to work, and the trip is terrifying in the best way. The seat is so small Tim has to press his entire body against her back, arms around her waist and head tucked into her shoulder. She pushes the little scooter as fast as it will go, weaving it around autos, trams, and crowds of tourist wandering blindly into the streets.

They arrive at the Magnaedis nearly an hour before the various temples to the gods opened to the general public. There’s already a queue at the doors to the Temple Archivarius that snakes all the way out into the plaza of the gods. Half have are wearing white mourning armbands, and even more are clutching small mementos and photos. A few give Tim envious stares as and Sasha walk past and are let in by security.

Tim doesn’t think they’d be quite so jealous if they saw Sasha’s office. The Archives are in the basement beneath main temple complex, a dark, cave-like place that is kept so cool Tim shivers. Sasha and the other assistant archivists’ offices are located near the stairs. Stretching out into the darkness are rows and rows of shelves, containing stacks of paper, parchment, and a vellum scrolls.

“Not quite what I was expecting when you asked if I wanted to play tourist,” Tim teases.

“What, you don’t want to tour a dank, cobweb infested basement that people occasionally vanish in?”

“Well, when you put it that way—“

“Don’t worry; no one’s disappeared completely in over a hundred years. And the Head Archivist says that Jurgen Leitner was smote by Jupiter Magnus himself for blasphemy, could have happened anywhere. Still, it pays to be careful.”

Tim nods. Knowledge, as Jupiter Magnus proves, is the greatest power in the universe. Nowhere else in this plane of reality holds as much knowledge about the gods as the Magnus Archives. Each document supposedly contains a first person statement of an encounter with one of the gods. He knows many—maybe even most—are untrue, outright lies or the ravings of the mentally unwell. It doesn’t make the ones that _are_ true less dangerous. All it does is provide camouflage.

Thankfully, they do not stay in the Archives long. Just long enough for Sasha to drop her things in her office, introduce Tim to a few of her coworkers, and ask permission from the Head Archivist to show Tim some of the Temple Panoptimus and the museum. Gertrude Robinson looks like she’s made of more cardigan than woman, nods and tells Sasha to be back in an hour.

“ _That’s_ the ‘stone cold bitch’ you told me about?” Tim stage whispers once they’re back on the main floor.

“Don’t let her looks fool you,” Sasha says, waving to a security guard. “You need a spine of steel to last as long as she has.”

“Is it really that dangerous?” Tim asks. Until he actually _saw_ the place he was inclined to take the stories surrounding the Archives as more myth than fact.

“Day-to-day? No. But the stress that comes from not offending the gods…” she shrugs, “Well, it can put a lot of people into early retirement. Anyway, time to play tourist.”

The temple dedicated to Jupiter Magnus is too large tour in a day, much less the hour Gertrude gave them. Sasha simply walks him around the massive, circular structure, pointing to spots of interest that he definitely needs to explore on his own. First being the great altar to Magnus himself in the center of the building. Tim’s seen pictures, of course, and more than a few artists’ renditions in London museums. He’s still unprepared for the scale of the thing.

There’s a sculpted bronze canopy at least fifty feet high supporting the statue of Jupiter Magnus that is another fifty feet. The king of the gods stands tall, great arms outstretched, head tilted toward the sky, an owl perched on his right wrist. It’s a beautiful piece, the bronze looks almost alive, and the legend is the artist was a favorite of the Stranger.

Tim’s jaw tightens as he remembers. He and the Stranger have never been friends, and after Danny’s death only fear of divine retribution stops Tim for cursing its name in the streets.

He forces himself not to think about it, and again when he looks at the niches surrounding the altar, each containing a sculpture of the most powerful of the New Gods. The Stranger is hidden in shadow, appearing to be a different figure depending on the angle. Tim walks past, and thankfully Sasha doesn’t mention it.

There isn’t a statue of the Forsaken, obviously. Just an empty niche where the god of Death should be. When Tim looks at that empty hole he feels a flash of anger that makes what he felt toward the Stranger seem like mild annoyance.

_This isn’t right, it was supposed to be me first, you greedy fucking bastard—_

Tim shakes himself out of his impious thoughts. He doubts Jupiter Magnus will strike him down for unkind thoughts toward the Forsaken, especially this close to Descent Night. Still, it doesn’t pay to take chances, not with Danny still waiting to enter Paradise. He swallows his anger and moves on. 

***********************************************


End file.
